


in the small hours

by lovebashed



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt!Derek, Hurt!Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post s2 finale, everyone's a bit hurt emotionally and physically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-26
Updated: 2012-10-26
Packaged: 2017-11-17 02:21:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/546586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovebashed/pseuds/lovebashed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during s2 finale. Stiles's bruises keep him awake long after he's finally made it back home. He gets some relief for his pain when Derek pays him a surprise visit late at night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in the small hours

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on my tumblr, so if it looks familiar, that's probably why. Beta thanks to the lovely [turnyourankle](http://turnyourankle.livejournal.com/) <333

When the dust has settled, Gerard's disappearance has been contemplated on, and everyone’s said their goodbyes, Stiles drives Scott, Lydia and Jackson home in his Jeep. He struggles to keep his eyes on the road instead of letting them slip shut, his head and limbs heavy and sore. He steals glances at Jackson and Lydia in the backseat through the front mirror, an ache blooming in his chest when Jackson buries his face in the crook of Lydia’s neck and Lydia pulls him even closer, her lips brushing his temple. 

Scott’s quiet, too, lost somewhere in his own head. Stiles has to shake him to leave when he's pulled up to the sidewalk by Scott's house, the last stop before Stiles can finally drive home. Melissa's walking down to the Jeep to greet them in her pajamas, her robe pulled tight around her chest. She looks tired but relieved to see them both alive and all in one piece. Stiles buries the bruise on his cheek under his palm as he waves them off, grinning so big at Scott’s worried face that his whole face hurts. Nothing good will come from Melissa finding out just how bad he’s aching. He just wants to go home to lick his wounds and maybe finally get to sleep.

But at home sleep just won’t come. His dad’s gone down to the station to sort out some of the paperwork the massacre at the police station brought up, and Stiles is alone again. Every which way he turns in his bed his bruises make themselves known, his side hurting so bad that lying down is agony. He picks himself up from the bed and walks to his desk, clicking the desk lamp on as he slumps down in his chair. 

He blinks at his phone, vision blurred. The avalanche of Scott’s messages is still waiting to be sorted out, but the numbers on the upper right corner are fluttering fast towards the next morning.

 _Will I ever get to sleep?_ Stiles wonders when the front door makes a soft sound. Stiles listens to the shuffling steps coming upstairs and then the hallway light’s streaming yellow into his room through the open doorway.

“I thought you'd be gone longer,” Stiles says to his dad, but it’s Derek who answers. 

“I saw your light on.”

“Jesus,” Stiles groans. The sudden, startled jump his body made brought back all his aches. “Derek? What the hell are you — wait, when did you start using the front door?”

“I was under the impression you didn’t like me using the window. You made it pretty clear last time I was here,” Derek says defensively. The fingers in his left hand curl into a tight ball, then relax almost immediately. 

“Fine, okay, yeah, _point_ , but I’m pretty sure I locked the door when I came in, or did I just walk into some weird, alternate universe where you of all people have a key to my house?” Stiles knows he’s babbling, but his heart’s hammering in his chest like a friggin’ drum solo and Derek’s looking more and more annoyed by the second.

“Don’t be stupid. You keep a spare key hooked on the nail behind your drain pipe.”

“Okay… I don’t know how you know that but I’m just going to assume it’s part of your lurker training or something. ‘How to make little boys pee their pants 101.’”

Derek’s brows rise at that and Stiles gives him his most impressive eye-roll, the one he’s practiced in the bathroom mirror and everything, the one only Scott’s been subject to before.

“Stiles—”

“What. Are. You. Doing. Here?” Stiles emphasizes every word, thinking maybe he should have just played the hurt-Stiles card at the McCalls and let Melissa force him to stay over tonight. Sleepovers at the McCalls have always been a whopping success.

Derek’s hand curls into a ball again, his jaw clenched so tight Stiles wonders if a werewolf’s broken teeth would regrow. It seems almost like Derek's trying to keep himself in check for Stiles' benefit, which probably just means that Stiles is looking just as pathetic as he feels, all bruised up, his fragile ribs creaking and complaining at his every move.

“I exchanged words with Chris Argent about Boyd and Erica before he took Allison home. Isaac filled me in on what happened to you. As best as he could, anyway.”

Stiles turns back to his phone, thumbing open the next message from Scott. It just reads, _going to check out jacksons bod. moms with him. jsut fuckin call me already_. “Oh, I see,” Stiles says, going for nonchalance but his voice sounds bitter even to his own ears.

“I didn’t know — didn’t realize. Scott was talking about needing to find you but there was just so much to do. Jackson—”

“Oh, for — seriously? Not a big deal, dude. I’m fine, aren’t I?” Stiles looks sharply up at Derek, challenging him to disagree. 

“Chris said Boyd and Erica were being tortured, but he let them go.”

Stiles deletes the message from his phone and puts it down on the desk on top of his research books, all ears. _This is good_ , he thinks. _This is business as usual. Talk to me about your pack. I can handle that_.“Do you know where they are now?”

“In the forest somewhere, moving towards the mountains, I think.”

“Well, shouldn’t you be going after them? I thought Alphas were supposed to look after their pack.”

There’s a flash of hurt in Derek’s eyes, something Stiles can’t even begin to understand. Derek’s whole demeanor is a bit off now, like some actual emotions besides anger and annoyance are breaking through his usual mask. Stiles recognizes the look on Derek’s face, too, because that’s also how he’s been feeling for a while now. 

“I am,” Derek says with a soft voice, taking a step further into Stiles’ room. “Boyd and Erica aren’t pack anymore.” 

Stiles draws in a sharp breath and makes a surprised noise, leaning back in his chair when Derek just suddenly crowds his personal space, taking Stiles’ jaw in his hand and turning his bruised cheek towards the desk light much like his dad did earlier. 

“They decided to leave. There’s not much I can do unless they come back to us. Peter and Isaac are at the house, Jackson’s with Lydia. I’ll give him tonight to recuperate and sort this thing out with his parents and friends, going there now wouldn’t accomplish anything.”

“And Scott?” Stiles asks, gripping Derek’s wrist tight when Derek runs his finger lightly over his bruise. Derek’s touch takes the edge off the pain, and Stiles blinks up at him surprised when Derek pulls back a little, his brows drawn in a frown. “Whoa, what did you just do?”

“You know as well as I do that Scott is home safe with his mom because you took him there. You’re the only one left.”

“But I’m not even pack, I’m not a wolf or a lizard or even a psycho killer you have to take down. I’m nothing to you, so why are you here?”

Derek lets go of Stiles’ jaw and steps back, his eyes angry and cold. “Fine, no one is pack. I get it. I do. I came to thank you for tonight, and now I’ve done that so, I don’t know, maybe you should get some sleep. I’ll lock the door on my way out.”

Stiles stares at Derek's retreating back for a moment, trying to figure out what just happened. Something about the hurt look in Derek's eyes grips him and won't let go; it pushes him out of his chair and into the hallway where Derek's descending the stairs. He moves as fast as his tender limbs will take him, and ignores how his body is protesting the sudden movements.

“Wait — Derek, wait a second, hold up.” He grips the back of Derek’s shirt to stop him from going down any further. “Look, I obviously don’t know half of what’s going on. I’m not holding my breath, but I hope that someone will some day catch me up with everything so I’ll know what this — this — all means,” Stiles motions at the space between them with jerky movements. His left side and back are still killing him but the ache in his cheek’s barely there anymore. “Also, seriously, what did you do to my cheek? You did something, right? Some werewolf mojo, because I’m pretty sure my face was throbbing with pain before you poked it with your finger and now the pain is almost gone?”

“Scott’s never done that for you?” Derek asks with a frown, taking a step up on the stairs so that they’re eye level again. “He never showed you?”

“No, he never mentioned any werewolf magic,” Stiles says, feeling a bit hurt that Scott’s kept something this huge from him. It just makes him wonder what else Scott has left unsaid.

Derek shakes his head, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth despite everything. “Stop calling it magic. All I did was transfer some of my healing energy to you. It’s not a big deal.”

“Um, are you kidding me? That’s a huge deal. That’s like, Pushing Daisies kind of awesome, except maybe better because I’m touching you and I’m not dead yet.”

“Am I supposed to know what you’re talking about?” Derek asks, and okay, fair enough. Derek doesn’t strike Stiles as the kind of person that would get that many recent pop culture references, the dude resides in abandoned buildings where Stiles is pretty sure that electricity — let alone cable — is not an option.

“Never mind,” Stiles waves him off, tugging his bruised lip between his teeth for a second before he asks, “Only, could you maybe show me again?”

Derek stares at his lip, the eternal frown on his forehead getting even deeper, and Stiles huffs out a nervous laugh, startled at how loud it sounds in the quiet of the house. 

“No, I mean, I was trying to sleep before you came in but I couldn’t find a position where the bruises on my side wouldn’t bother me.”

Derek’s eyes are searching something in Stiles’ for so long that Stiles has time to realize how stupid his request is. Derek doesn’t owe him anything, and besides, there’s probably a whole bunch of lines Stiles is crossing right now. It’s just that look in Derek’s eyes when Stiles told him he wasn’t pack, maybe that’s really what brought this on, made him brave enough to ask. 

“Go to bed, Stiles,” Derek says finally, and damn if Stiles wasn’t right about crossing those lines. 

“Yeah, heh, okay, right, I’ll just—” Stiles stammers, taking a shaky step up the staircase and once he’s reached the top, he tells Derek to close the front door on his way out. 

But apparently Derek followed him to his room because Stiles almost jumps out of his skin when he turns to close his door and Derek’s just behind him, looking at him expectantly. 

“Jesus, what’re you still doing here? I thought we both established the fact that you were leaving!”

“You asked me to show you my mojo,” Derek says with a straight face but there’s also something almost playful in his eyes, and hell, was that just — Derek was definitely cracking a joke! Stiles is starting to think that maybe his theory of an alternate universe wasn’t that farfetched after all.

“I — you want to do it now?”

“Well when else would I do it?” Derek says like he’s starting to lose patience again, but Stiles isn’t fooled anymore. Derek’s definitely maybe not completely annoyed at Stiles, which is a strange feeling that Stiles thinks he will probably have to at least try to process in the morning when he isn’t so tired anymore. “Lie down and show me the bruise.”

“Uh, I — okay,” Stiles says, startled into agreeing. He sits down on his bed and pats at his left side where the biggest bruise has spread out along his lowest ribs all the way down to his hipbone. “It’s here, but dude, you really don’t have to do this. It was stupid to ask you and I definitely don’t need it. I’ll just grab some Advil like a normal person and then go to bed.”

“Stiles, just. Shut up and lie down,” Derek grits out and Stiles sighs, trying to get comfortable on the pillows while Derek sits down on the edge of the mattress, puts his hands in his lap and just waits calmly for Stiles to stop moving. 

“So—?” Stiles says when he thinks he’s as comfortable as he can get, feeling his heart starting up another drum solo all the way up in his clavicles. “Whoa, wait, what—” he jumps when Derek grabs the hem of Stiles’ t-shirt and tries to lift it up, struggling it back down over his hips.

“I can’t do it over your shirt. It has to be skin contact,” Derek placates like he’s talking to a frightened dog or something. And damn if things haven’t gone from weird to super friggin’ weird in just a few short moments.

“I’m starting to understand why you hesitated before, dude. I should have just kept my big mouth shut, right? Stupid Stiles.”

“Just be still for a moment, okay? It’s — it’s fine. Just let me do this so you can go to sleep and I can get the hell away from here before your dad comes home.”

Stiles gives Derek a look that he hopes is saying, _dude, it’s okay if we never mention this to anyone, especially to each other_ , but he lets go of his shirt and draws in a shaky breath, letting Derek go through the motions.

“Christ,” Derek breathes out when he’s lifted Stiles’ shirt just enough to assess the damage. “No wonder you were having trouble sleeping. That looks insane.”

“I’m okay, it’s just a flesh wound,” Stiles quotes, cracking a smile when Derek gives him an incredulous look. Derek brushes his knuckles gently over the bruise and Stiles hisses in distress, craning his neck to better see what’s happening.

“Gerard did all this?” Derek asks. He sounds disgusted, voice all gritty and rough. Derek opens his hand and presses his palm over the bruise and Stiles’ belly flutters at Derek’s touch. His skin feels raw and sensitive and Derek’s touch is just all warm and comforting, and boy, this is not good. This is so far from good that it’s bordering on terrible. Stiles tries to focus on something other than the palm on his belly that’s somehow sucking the sharp edge of his pain away from the bruised tissue like a damn leech, but he can’t help but revel a little in the sensations.

“That’s kind of gross,” Stiles manages to get out. “Your hand’s like a damn pain-leech, y’know? Sucking my bruise into itself or something.” 

Derek just ignores him and keeps his eyes on the bruise. Stiles chances a look again and that’s when he sees it, dark threads moving up Derek’s arm from where his palm is connected to Stiles’ skin.

“Whoa, hey, what the hell?” Stiles yelps, scrambling away from Derek until his back hits the headboard. 

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Your arm? What the shit is that?” Stiles points at Derek’s arm where his veins are turning back to normal, the last of the black, inky substance fading away.

“This?” Derek asks, trailing his finger along the disappearing line. He studies his own arm a bit, taking his time to answer. “It’s kinda like you said, I was leeching some of that pain from you.”

“And into you? Because I never agreed to that! You said it was like transferring your healing energy to me, not taking my pain and making it yours!”

Derek’s looking at Stiles like he doesn’t understand what the big deal is. “It’s not like I even feel it anymore,” he says, and whoa, Derek’s just completely missed the whole point by a mile and a half. Stiles thinks he’s never felt so embarrassed in his life.

“Way to make me feel like a damn Disney princess, dude. I thought we were doing some cool werewolf magic here and instead you just totally treated me like some damsel in distress.”

Derek snorts, wiping his palms on his jeans as he gets up from the bed. “I had to sit through my share of Disney with my little brothers and sisters when I was a kid. I can tell you with conviction that those princesses were far from damsels in distress. Go to sleep, Stiles. I’ll see you around.”

“But—”

“Stiles, seriously. I’m fine. You’re definitely fine. But we could both still benefit from a night’s rest. So please, go to sleep. I’ll let myself out.”

Stiles huffs out a breath as he watches Derek walk out the room, listening to the sound of Derek’s steps fading away like the pain from his side. He settles down on the bed and throws his comforter over his head as he buries his face in his pillow and tries to figure out what the hell just happened. He’s getting really sleepy though, too tired to even listen to his own thoughts. Now that his side isn’t hurting anymore, his fatigue makes itself known again. He murmurs his thanks to Derek into his pillow when the front door sounds, and just knows that Derek will still be able to hear him.


End file.
